Return of THE FEAR!

[Ollkiller]

Ah lads. It's good to be back! Pissing myself here catching up on all the stories. 

It's like getting the band back together 

[Kurt Cocaine]

Ah lads. It's good to be back! Pissing myself here catching up on all the stories. 

That could quite easily be old age though.... 

[Floss]

I only discovered there was an off topic forum here the other day and then, to my delight, i discovered that the FEAR is back!  Some horrifically hilarious tales of Fear in the old forum for sure, manys the laugh i had from them. Need to wade through this new batch at some stage!

[StoutAndAle]

Met a buddy of mine for coffee the other day. He told me a great little tale about a mutual friend who had a house-warming/Christmas party at the end of last year.

This lad we know, DC, bought a nice gaff. On his own (pharma job, lived at home until he had a huge deposit). Decided to have a bit of a party. Good craic, plenty of booze. One rule. "Lads, downstairs jacks only, yeah?"

Wakes up next morning to the screams of the girl he was seeing. Runs down the stairs absolutely starkers (after grabbing a club from the golf bag on the landing) following the sound of the roaring.

DC finds her staring at one of the boys out cold in the jacks naked from the waist down, surrounded by cans and some of the food that had been laid out in the dining room the night before, cradling a bottle of Famous Grouse.

"Ah for fuck sake!"

DC finally gets the other lad to come to. He stands up, wobbles a bit and sets about searching the house for his pants and jocks. All the while singing a version of "Wired For Sound".

Something must not have agreed with his guts cos as he left the downstairs jacks he revealed a "chalk outline" that he had created by spraying up the back of the cistern, around the outside of the bowl and the floor.

Yer wan was never seen again.

[Snare]

"Seal le Dáithí

TG4, 7.30pm

The multi-talented Aonghus McAnally recently retired from broadcasting, but pops up here as Dáithí Ó Sé's first guest on the new series"

It would be great if we could submit some questions about things he might remember! 😀

[Toeshaver General]

My favourite thread from MI so I may as well add in some of what I've been up to since then.

By and large I've been much more sensible, thanks to two incidents that changed my drinking habits. One was the Destroyer 666 gig in Dublin in 2018, the last time I drank Buckfast. I don't remember a note of the gig, nor apparently needing help to put my jacket on or body-slamming some short fella to the floor, whose identity is still a mystery. The first thing I remember after finishing the Buckfast on the bus is being refused service by the bar staff in On The Rox and attempting to sneakily get someone to buy me a pint. Not sneakily enough and I was marched down the stairs by the bouncers. The memory loss kicks in again at that point but I do know that I ran into El Ogre Del Dublinios at that point who should be in here soon enough to share his own tales so he might be able to fill in the blanks.

The other was the last night I ever drank spirits as my main tipple. A few nights after Christmas about 2 years ago and the stepfather had given me 2 bottles of this rotten chilli whiskey which became tolerable when mixed with ginger ale so that had me off to a flying start at my friend's house. This may have also been the night that it took an hour to coax me along the 15 minute walk back to the after-sesh from the bar after accepting a toke off a joint and shitting my guts out behind a bin but I can't be sure. What I do know is that with both bottles of the rotten chilli whiskey gone I let myself back into my mother's house just around the corner around 2am to grab a third bottle, a Redbreast 12 which is far too good a whiskey to be wasted on a night like this. The next thing I remember is after sunrise and holding onto the lampost outside the friend's house, trying not to slip on the icy ground and assuring him that I'm okay walking round the corner.

And I was.

Or so I thought.

I was later told by the mother than not only had the stepfather nearly run me down in the car when leaving for work when I staggered into the road but she had put the bolt on the door after he left, assuming I had made it home already. With my key not getting the job done and unable to rouse her by knocking I apparently decided trying to batter the door down with a log from the garden was the best course of action. Cutting back on the spirits was pretty much a prerequisite for staying home at Christmas or ever again from that point on.



So since then I've mostly been on the straight and narrow, sticking to beer and wine with the occasional cocktail or single malt here and there. One night in Manchester is still worth a mention though. I had moved there for work in the autumn of 2019 and because of working unsociable hours, prioritising going to the footie and a general lack of decent gigs it took til February of last year for an opportunity for some real dionysian metallic alcoholocausting. But when that opportunity came it came in spades. A 12 band bill, finally a chance to get to check out some local bands and meet up with all the mates who I had known before moving but hadn't had the chance to sesh with properly yet.

I decided to start off slow, forgoing any cans on the train ride in from Stockport. After all this day was primarily about social and musical enjoyment and I didn't want to ruin that too early on. Beside which, it was also a charity gig in honour of a very well liked local lad who had committed suicide the previous year and most of the attendees, my mates included, had a very personal connection with him. The last thing I wanted was to be the drunk stranger at the wake.

The day got off to a bit of a bad start. First of all I asked a lad to extend my apologies to his wife, who I had upset by not recognising in my drunken stupor at the Samhain gig in Limerick a few months back. Only I didn't know they had separated. Foot in mouth, strike one. Then there was the appearance of a girl who I had hit it off with on a previous trip to Manchester. Got on like a house of fire, sat chatting away in Burger King til the wee hours, she walked me back to my hotel and kissed me goodnight. Then for reasons I still am not sure of blocked me on Facebook. Strike two and things were getting awkward so hitting the pints hard earlier than planned was the only sensible thing to do.

A few bands and plenty of pints in I was feeling much better, so much so that I thought I might take a crack at the statuesque redhead who had sorted me out with a ticket for this sold out affair via Facebook. (Sidenote - I later found out she's a dominatrix so I may have dodged a "bullet" on this one in more than one sense of the word.) I was formulating my battle plan while walking down the stairs, an old smooth worn oak bastard that was probably as old as the Victorian building itself. Consumed with thoughts of the ride I failed to notice the puddle of beer and strike three, I cleared the last dozen steps in a textbook Larel And Hardy banana peel spill, landing arse first on the bottom step. Right in front of the ginger beauty.

Fuck it, full speed ahead on the drinking and headbanging from that point I thought.

Now it's worth mentioning my mother's family have an incredibly high genetic tolerance to painful injury. My grandfather once took 24 hours to notice a broken neck. His brother once wrapped a protruding leg bone in a hankerchief and said he would make an appointment with the doctor on Monday. I myself once broke some ribs and didn't notice for several hours so the thought did cross my mind that this was something that wouldn't be sorted by a bit of a sit down. But with over half the bands still to go I convinced myself I could stretch it out with a bit of yoga in the morning and masked the pain with beer, good cheer and adrenaline and plowed on through til kicking out time at 11am.

The first sign that not all was right was when I needed physical help exiting the taxi onto the next bar. Just the drunkenness I told myself. Then with the discomfort growing I managed to fall alseep sitting on a tiny window ledge only a few inches deep outside for what must've been at least an hour. The red flags were well and truly waving now but when the suggestion of moving onto a third joint was made, a late night basement cocktail bar, I was well up for plowing on. Somehow this proved to be one of the few good decisions of the night because after slowly making it down the stairs, gripping the handrail for dear life, a few espresso martinis turned out to be a much better painkiller than the beer. Maybe this wasn't that serious after all.

I'm not sure at what time I said my goodbyes but it was somewhere between being too late to get a kebab anywhere and too early for the first train. A load of junk food from the Spar beside the bus stop and the night bus it was then. A combination I had made quite a few times before. And on some of those occasions I had fallen asleep on the bus, shaken awake by the bus driver at the park and ride halfway into county Cheshire and allowed to ride the return journey to my stop. I was fully prepared for this happening again so no biggie. What I didn't prepare for was falling asleep yet again, and waking up halfway back to the city centre and having to change onto a third bus to get home. By now the sun was well and truly up but fuck it, at least I was home.

The next thing I remember was waking up in bed in a solid 7/10 pain in my tailbone competing with one of the worst hangovers of my life. That fucker was at the very least bruised, if not cracked. I wasn't due in work til the following night but I knew even that wasn't going to be enough. After literally crawling to the bathroom for a boke (which made the pain even worse) and a miserable tear-filled sit down shower I called the boss and arranged to move my next days off forward.

3 days still wouldn't have been enough time to recover except for one thing. While emptying out my jeans pockets to throw them in the laundry pile I came across a score bag which I can only assume was a gift from some kind soul who anticipate what pain I would be in. Alternating between smoking waterfalls over the kitchen sink and vegetating on the sofa watching Hardy Bucks for the next 24 hours definitely cut that convalescence period down by a fair bit. I was still sitting behind the reception desk at work on a foam ring cushion designed for pregnant women and sleeping in bed propped upright for pillows for the best part of a month though and I still can't sit in a firm chair for too long to this day.

[El_ogre_del_Dublinios]

In response to the above tale:
I met you after getting off work late sadly missing the gig. You were outside the venue slobbering to anyone who would listen lol. After you got kicked out of the Vodoo we both decided to head  into frank Ryan's next door to sink a few ( I went with ye cos the bastards in on the Rox wouldn't take card).

To this day I can only guess what ye were trying to communicate to me, I was more or less sober for the first hour or so of it and still I couldn't figure out what ye were on about to me. I could make out the words "Israel" "syria""grandad" and "paratroopers" and that was about it.

After leaving frank Ryan's we walked to fibbers  , chancing our arm at getting into sinè on the way. The bouncer at sinè that night was this Roma gypsie lad I knew from blanch called mario ( the lad is a fuckin scumbag but he likes me for some reason so I try to keep on his good side) upon hearing his name was mario you broke your shite laughing and asking him "where's luigi so?". He was about half a second away from battering ye so I had to quickly wisk ye away down to fibbers. After getting to fibbers ye ended your night continuing  to slobber nonsense to a load of young wans who looked fuckin terrified of ye lol


I'll uploading my own horror stories soon enough anyway lads. Prepare to enter the heart of darkness

[Kurt Cocaine]

Those stories have given me a hangover... 

[El_ogre_del_Dublinios]

My worst attack of the fear isn't my most disgraceful story but well up there in the mind rending terror it induced.

The tale takes place in Paris, France.I  Was at fall of summer 2018 and after spending the whole festival as a drunken, violent mongo I was suffering bad on the way back, sweat pumping out of me, shivering despite the heat of a continental summer, rusty hacking cough, intense feelings of dread and regret, the whole nine yards, no messing.

The plan was to get the train through the channel tunnel, spend 1 more night on the rip with my London mate and then train and ferry back to Dublin. So I land in the train station with about 30mins till the train when the moment I've been dreading all mourning comes, I need to take a shite. People who know me in person are well aware of whatever mystery intestinal issue that plagues me constantly so I knew how bad this was going to be. So I find a jaxs down one of the corridors under the main platform, find a stall and sit down. As soon as me cheeks hit the seat a jet of what feels  like battery acid  comes out me hole with the force of a firehose. I Was legit screaming out loud from the pain of it. After about 10 mins of arse spraying mayhem and being so dehydrated I looked like ET I clean meself up and leave the jaxs. Here is where the terror begins.

The corridor is empty outside the jaxs apart from a man who looks at me and starts pointing and screaming in french. It takes me a second to realise what I'm looking at is a bomb-disposal expert, in the full combat gear carrying a rifle. I look to me left and about 10 feet from me is a school bag on its own the the middle of the corridor. My brain finally puts 2 and 2 together and I nearly have a heart attack.  I run the direction the copper was telling me to and out the station and I hid in an alleyway behind a bin, heart pounding and vision blurry for what feels like an eternity until I finally calm down and go back to the station to get my rescheduled train ( not before running  into Fart who was so drunk he couldn't comprehend what a bomb threat was) I spent the entire train to London locked in the jaxs on the train paro off me head that i was gonna get blown up. Visions of ISIS decapitation videos filling my brain every time I closed my eyes to try and sleep.

The best part? I later  learned it was a false alarm. It was a kid who left his school bag on the floor by accident.

That was my most intense experience with the fear, next time I'll post the one about sleeping in a shed or maybe the time I was so fucked up I was hallucinating

[Caomhaoin]

Jaysus that's a sore one!

[StoutAndAle]

Yes boys! 

[El_ogre_del_Dublinios]

the next instalment of my  endless war with the dreaded fear.


this one took place while i was studying in maynooth during either 2016/2017.  for those unaware it was maynooth tradition for more or less the entire college to get langured all day on the week before the Christmas break.  much to the eternal disgust of the population the entire town basically becomes one massive sesh. me and a mate who was also studying there decided we would join the festivities after our lectures for the day where done.

i had a feeling i was in for a rough night when i arrived in the town at 10 in the mourning to see a 20 year old lad unconscious, being dragged off the  campus by the guards.  fair play to the lad, its not easy to get black out fucked by 10 in the mourning.  so i finish me lectures for the day, rammed a chicken role down me gullet for the soakage and went to meet me mate. we decided upon the classiest plan for the night, which was to get plastered on flagons of cheap cider and whiskey from lidl under the bridge by the train station. we where joined by a few others and cracked on. (on a side note this may have been the same night when i tried to batter a load of 12 year olds for throwing coins at me from the top of the bridge  but i cant remember)

we move towards the nearest pub but are refused entry ( probably a fair judgement considering we where splattered and reeked of booze)  after being refused from a good few pubs we finally got in to one of them, so me and me mate decided to try and get the ride off some young wans. we start chatting to a pair of wans that seem to be up for it, so we go inside and sit with them at a table. here is where things start to go wrong. i  start to role meself a fag and look up at me mate. something about the look on his face just screamed to me that he was about to do something retarded. i was correct in this assessment.  for reasons known only to himself he decided that now was the time to start making a high pitched screeching sound and to flop around on the seat like he was having a seizure. the 2 young wans decide, after me being unable to offer any explanation as to this behaviour that maybe they shouldnt be talking to the drooling apes who screech like banshees for no reason. to deal with the shame i go and pump a round of shots into me and have about 20 rollies one after the other. after this im absolutely spastic so it takes me a solid 3 hours to realise my mate has gone missing.

this was a problem, because i dont live in maynooth, the last train and bus  has left and  ive spent all my money so i cant get a taxi home.  i was supposed to stay in me mates house in maynooth but i hadnt been to his gaff yet and i didnt have an address either. he also wasnt answering his phone.  it was an hour till closing time and i wasnt able to chat anyone up to let me stay. in short i was up shit creek without a paddle.  (i later learned that my mate had left the pub in a drunken stupor, thought i had gone home and walked back to his gaff and passed out  (he also had his own little misadventure on his way home, but im not allowed say what happened under strict instruction from him lol)

after getting kicked out the pub i wandered the streets for a few hours before deciding on my course on action. i wandered down an ally, and looking over the wall at the end i can see the door of a shed in someones back garden swinging open. jackpot. so i hop the wall and crawl into the shed and lock the door. i quickly realised that i couldnt leave for any reason until i was going to hop back over the wall in the mourning, so im ashamed to say i pissed  in the shed full of this poor families garden chairs and left about 30 fag buts in there for good measure.

after leaving in the mourning after basically no sleep in went to the then open maynooth library, passed out on a beanbag chair, snored so loud half the library complained about me and got turfed out by security, not before they looked at me and asked me if i needed a doctor ( i can only assume they thought i was a smack head that had wandered in, probably the smell and the DTs)

thank christ it was the last week of college before Christmas break, i dont think i could have faced it so soon. even when i went back after Christmas break i was cringing about what had happened lol

[Kurt Cocaine]

"mourning" 

[El_ogre_del_Dublinios]

"mourning" 

a very appropriate Freudian slip to be honest lol

[Emphyrio]

These stories are becoming fewer and fewer. Wish we could get the old thread and copy the stories in here. God, it was full of beauties.